


Coyote Beautiful

by leonidaslion



Series: Coyote [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up after a night of heavy drinking with an unexpected bedmate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coyote Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leighm](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=leighm).



The first thing Sam’s aware of is the sensation of warmth across his left shoulder blade. Still more than half asleep, he considers the feeling. Drowsily flexes the muscle there and feels his lips curve up at the almost physical weight of what he’s begun to identify as sunlight soaking into his bare skin. Feels like a good, deep-tissue massage, and he’s certain that there’s nothing better than lying here in bed and slowly coming awake to the sun’s steady pressure on his shoulder.

There’s sound, too. Someone’s mouth is resting next to his ear, and there’s a constant pulse of moist breath sliding across his cheek. Sam begins to realize that he can’t feel his right arm. He suspects that he can’t feel his right arm because the same somebody who is breathing in his ear is lying on top of it.

Vague curiosity pulls him closer to waking. He’s not used to waking up wrapped in someone’s arms: usually spends mornings wrapped up in a tangle of sheets from the restless night before—he hasn’t been sleeping very well since Jess. But there don’t seem to be any sheets at all this morning, and he’s lying on his back with the sun beating down on one shoulder and the other trapped underneath a heavy body, so he’s not alone either.

Sam’s pretty sure he should be freaking out because he doesn’t really remember picking up a girl last night—doesn’t remember much of anything beyond that fifth round of tequila he and Dean ordered at the bar. But he’s not, and that’s only partially because he’s actually still a little drunk. There’s another reason: something deeper, more primal.

He adjusts his head a little and the girl’s lips brush his ear. It sends a jolt of heat straight down to his cock, even though he’s not really awake yet and she’s clearly still sound asleep. Sam considers rolling over and kissing her awake, but it’s still too much of an effort even to open his eyes, and he’s content to just lie there. Bask in the early morning glow.

Besides, something’s been nagging him since he woke up, and he’s busy slowly working it through in his head. Something to do with the sun streaming in through the motel window and onto Sam’s shoulder. Didn’t Dean take the bed by the window?

Sam opens his eyes and he’s looking right up at the window, looking through threadbare yellow curtains at the sun. It’s their motel room, and yes, he’s lying in Dean’s bed. Okaaaay.

He shifts his eyes down and there’s a leg thrown across him. An arm draped over his chest. They don’t belong to a woman …

Hold on a sec.

There’s a scar on the guy’s thigh: a small, puckered crescent where no hair will grow. And Sam knows that scar. He stitched the wound shut after all, while Dad held Dean down.

He’s lying in Dean’s bed with Dean wrapped around him. A quick check tells him that they’re both naked, and when he twists his head a little he can see that Dean’s wearing a smug, satisfied smile even though he’s fast asleep. The room smells like sex. It takes Sam a few minutes, partly because he’s still drunk and partly because it’s so unexpected, but in the end he comes up with an answer to the puzzle laid out in front of him.

 _I slept with Dean._

Sam blinks as the knowledge settles in his bones. Brings his free hand around to trail along the arm that Dean’s got draped over his chest.

Huh.

It’s weird, because Sam’s pretty sure that he’s never thought about this before, but now that he’s lying here with Dean pressed up against him, it all seems sort of … fine. Okay, maybe more than fine, he admits as Dean tucks his face into Sam’s neck and mouths at the skin there. The arm around Sam’s chest tenses, and Dean mumbles something incomprehensible into his skin before going still again.

Dean’s barely touched him and Sam’s hard as a rock, which has to mean something. Sam absently draws his nails along his brother’s shoulder and down his arm and Dean makes this strange little noise. Sam can feel Dean stiffening along his side and he smiles. Wonders how Dean would sound if Sam woke him up with a blowjob and wishes it was possible to try it now. But, of course, his arm is trapped underneath Dean’s body, which makes the angle on that experiment pretty much impossible.

Sam shifts his head so that he’s breathing in Dean’s scent. His nose is buried in Dean’s hair, which is pretty much sticking up all over the place right now. It’s kind of adorable, actually. And Dean smells like leather and gunpowder and smoke from the bar, which pretty much means that he smells like home.

Some of last night is starting to come back to Sam now: little snatches of tequila and heat and want. He remembers staggering out into the parking lot with Dean. Remembers that it was raining and that the rain seemed to make Dean’s skin shine under the streetlights. Remembers pressing Dean up against the Impala and then ducking his head to lick at Dean’s lips. Licking and biting until Dean’s mouth finally opens under his.

After that things get jumbled again, until there’s an image of Dean virtuously trying to put him to bed by himself. Sam remembers yanking Dean down into the bed with him and shoving his hand down into his brother’s pants. Remembers finding Dean as hard and ready as he was, even if Dean’s mouth said otherwise. And Sam remembers later, when all of his brother’s resistance came crashing down, and the only words Dean seemed capable of forming were “Sammy” and “yes” and “harder”.

Thinking about it now, Sam’s pretty sure that Dean’s going to have a problem with this when he wakes up. And even if he can come up with answers for all of the things Dean was saying last night— _you don’t want this; you’re not gay, damn it; we’re brothers, you fucking asshole_ —he knows that Dean isn’t going to want to hear it. His hand stills on Dean’s arm as he wonders for the first time if he forced Dean into doing something he didn’t want to do.

Dean was pretty drunk last night, after all, and morning wood isn’t really indicative of anything, especially when the wood in question is attached to someone who’s still fast asleep. Sam’s rapidly losing his own hard on from guilt and fear. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Dean doesn’t want this because he may not remember last night all that well, but he’s pretty sure that he wants to do it again.

Sam wants to taste his brother when he’s sober enough to remember it. Wants to hear the noises Dean makes when he comes. Most of all, though, he wants to wake up like this every morning and have it be okay.

“Sammy,” Dean breathes into his skin. His hips hitch forward a little, and his erection rubs against Sam’s waist. Sam doesn’t recognize the moan that slips past his own lips, but its somewhere between relief and desire.

Dean wants this. Dean’s having some kind of sex dream with Sam’s name in his mouth, and he can deny it all he wants when he wakes up, but he’s just given himself away.

Sam’s smiling fit to burst as he pulls Dean more firmly against him with his free hand. In a few hours, he’s probably going to have to deal with Dean’s guilt and self-doubt, but for now there’s silence. There’s sunlight and Dean’s lips on his skin.

Sam lets his eyes slip shut again and breathes softly into Dean’s hair and waits for his brother to wake up.


End file.
